


tais-toi et embrasse-moi

by kintou



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, France - Freeform, M/M, Oneshot, fully oneshot, jeanmarco, marcojean - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-05-03
Packaged: 2020-02-16 17:19:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18695908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kintou/pseuds/kintou
Summary: Jean's grandpa owns a nice bakery in France, and sometimes Jean helps. When it turns out that the intern Jean's grandpa took in speaks no French, and Jean will be stuck translating, Jean gets pretty pissed off. Why the hell would this Marco guy do an internship where the owners doesn't speak English? Why does he have to live in Jean's apartment? And more important than that: can't the freckled boy stop smiling so gorgeously?





	tais-toi et embrasse-moi

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I know nothing about baking nor do I speak French. As a matter of fact, I failed my high school French class with a 3 of of 10! Me writing some parts in French now was my first time actually trying since then, so don't be too hard on me.

‘Jean!’ my grandpa called. I heard him walk from the shop into the bakery. He always walked on the rhythm of the jazz we had playing softly. I couldn’t help but wonder how he did it.

 _‘Je suis ici_ _!’ I called back. I_ took some bread out of the oven, sang with the music very softly: ‘ _Déjà j'ai connu le parfum de l'amour. Un million de roses n'embaumerait pas autant_.’

The door opened quickly. _‘Jean.’_ my gramps said again. This time on a normal tone, even if it was hurried.   _‘Il est la’_ _He’s here._

‘ _Who?_ ’

‘ _The boy.. You know.. The boy who’s going to learn here._ ’ he said, still in French.

Ah. He had told me someone like that would be coming. Usually though, when he did take someone in to help, I had nothing to do with it. I wasn’t the one who was going to teach them. I had no idea why this was important information for me.

‘ _Why do I have to come?_ ’

‘Ne parlant pas français.’ _He doesn’t speak French._

‘ _Then how are you going to teach him?_ ’

He looked at me like _I_ was the crazy one. Pulled up his eyebrows and shook his head. ‘ _You can speak English with him._ ’

‘ _Grandpa.._ ’

‘ _Your English is very good! Go talk to him_.’

‘ _But_ -’

 _‘Go, Jean._ ’

I sighed, rolled my eyes, but walked towards the door anyway. I looked around the corner secretly. He was waiting with a suitcase and a big bag. He was smiling brightly, even though he had bags under his eyes. His skin was quite a bit darker than ours. There were freckles all over his face. ‘ _Where’s he from?_ ’ I whispered.

‘ _Italy._ ’ My grandpa stood behind me. ‘ _Don’t worry, his English is very good._ ’

That was not the issue at all. Whatever. I walked out of the bakery and into the shop. His face lit up. He let go of his bag and walked my way. ‘Hello.’ I mumbled.

He leaned in and gave me one kiss on my cheek. Pulled back, so that my second peck disappeared into thin air. I awkwardly pulled back. Mumbled: ‘Two kisses, man, we do two kisses.’

‘Oh.. eh-’ he started to move.

‘No need to redo it.’  I rolled my eyes, laughed.

He was blushing, put his hand in front of his face. He struck me as extremely pretty right away. The blush underneath his freckles made is obvious. ‘Sorry.’

‘Whatever..’ I mumbled looking away. ‘I’m Jean.’

He held out his hand this time. ‘Easier, right? I’m Marco.’

I took his hand but rolled my eyes. ‘Nice to meet you. So.. you want.. to get.. information?’  

He chuckled, but nodded anyway. ‘Information would be.. good.’

‘This is awkward as fuck. My grandpa usually does this, but he doesn’t speak any English.’ I started walking towards the bakery. Marco followed behind me with his suitcase in his hand. My grandpa would have taken it for him, I definitely wouldn’t. ‘Alright. So this is the bakery, but we’ll get to that.’ Marco closely watched the antique ovens, the handmade dough, every single spice hanging against the wall.

He’d get to use all of them. I wanted to get the hell over with it. ‘My grandpa lives next door. You’ll be living in the souterrain here.’ I pointed at the stairs going down. ‘How long are you staying?’  

‘Four months.’ He mumbled. ‘Internship.’

‘Why are you doing an internship here?’ I didn’t mean to sound so mean. Really, I didn’t.

‘Long story..’

‘Alright, I’ll hear it another time.’  I nodded my head towards the stairs. ‘C’mon.’  

Marco carefully walked down the stairs with his suitcase in his hand. The door was already open. I followed behind him. The bed was made. The curtains were open. Through the small souterrain window you could see the shoes of people walking by.

‘‘S not a lot of light, but it’s enough.’

‘Thank you, Jean.’ he smiled sweetly. His laughing wrinkles were small, but definitely beautiful placed next to his eyes. What the hell was my grandpa thinking, taking a guy like this into the shop? Specially now, with everything that had happened. Rumours would definitely spread; my parents would throw a fit.  

‘No- no biggy. Eh- if you need anything, I’ll be upstairs. There’s a shared bathroom and kitchen there.’

‘You live here?’

‘Yeah right upstairs. Gramps rented me the place not long ago. Anyway- there’s nameplates on the bathroom and kitchen, it should speak for itself. Knock the doors before entering at all times.’

He was grinning now.

‘A-anyway, good luck unpacking.’

‘Thank you, Jean.’  

I sucked in a big breath, couldn’t decide what to answer, and ended up walking upstairs without saying anything. Marco. Marco, who smiled softly and had thousands of freckles.

While walking upstairs I decided to keep my distance. The stairs would separate us.

 

Ramones. Blasting loudly. I put on sweatpants and a big shirt before walking into the kitching, leaving my door wide open. I sang the words I barely understood wholeheartedly. I banged my head on the rhythm. I took out some filter coffee and boiled water in a cooking pan. Then, I pushed the window open and put a cigarette in between my lips. I lit it with the stove while moving to the music.

That’s when the door opened slowly. Making a goddamn cracking noise. I turned around in horror. The Italian boy. I had almost forgotten about him. ‘Hi,’ he mumbled.

I bit my lip, turned to my coffee. It was almost finished.

‘Sorry.. am I interrupting you?’

‘No.. sorry for the music.’

He walked up from behind me. ‘No I like i- are you making coffee?’

‘Got a problem?’

‘No- it’s just kind of late.’

‘Believe me you won’t sleep with this music anyway.’

He chuckled. ‘I guess.’

I poured some more water on top of my coffee. ‘What were you here for anyway, if it was not to turn off my music?’

‘Tea.’

I turned around, finally took a good look at him. He was wearing a pair of black sweatpants as well. On top of it he had a red sweater. He looked comfortable. He looked really nice. I tried not to look at him for too long. ‘We don’t have tea.. We’ll go get some tomorrow.’

‘Oh-’

‘Look, I haven’t been living here for that long so- yeah, no tea.’

I took my coffee and sat down at the kitchen table. He smiled softly, I don’t know why. As soon as I was sitting though, he took a new filter, a mug, and started pouring some coffee for himself. He was skilled, and careful.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Won’t ask you to turn off the music, so I might as well stay up.’ His face stood mischievous, as if we were kids who were home without our parents being there for the first time ever. I couldn’t help but drop the irritated act, for a second. And so I smiled at him. I cursed myself for doing so, but I really couldn’t help myself anymore.

He bobbed his head to the music.

‘You like the ramones?’

‘Never gave them a proper listen.’

‘So what do you listen to?’ I sipped my coffee.

‘Soul. Jazz. That kind of stuff.’

‘Hm..’ I put my mug down, got up and walked out of the kitchen without saying a single thing. In my room I put on the single ‘ _ain’t no stopping us now’_ as loud as my record player could go. When I came back Marco was already swaying his hips, singing the lyrics. ‘Good guess?’

‘You sir, like the good stuff.’

‘You mean ‘old stuff’.’

Marco kissed the tips of his fingers as if he had just tasted a fine wine. I laughed at him. Watched him dance around the room with a cup of coffee in his hand. ‘ _Ain’t no stopping us now-’_ I had to admit: the song was one that would always get to you.

 

‘ _Jean! You’re late. Marco is already ready,_ ’ grandpa yelled as I walked into the bakery. Marco was standing next to the counter, indeed ready to start.

‘Ugh, alright.’ I mumbled at grandpa, who started heating the oven.

Marco smiled at me. ‘Missed you at breakfast.’

I rolled my eyes at him.

Grandpa laughed. ‘Jean- is not good morning,’ he told Marco in his best English.

Marco laughed and nodded.

‘Shut up. It’s early as hell.’ I mumbled to Marco. Grandpa was still laughing, proud at his own damn joke.

Grandpa walked to the counter as well. ‘ _Jean, you tell him how to make a normal baguette the way we do, alright?_ ’

‘ _Why do I have to teach him? I thought I had to translate?_ ’  

‘ _Jean, it’s easy. I know you can._ ’

‘ _That’s not what it’s about._ ’

Marco looked confused, pulled up an eyebrow, waiting for me to translate. I didn’t.

_‘Jean. You can do it. Do it.’_

My grandpa walked to the front of the shop, leaving the two of us alone.

We stood in silence for a while. I didn’t tell Marco to do anything. Marco stared at me, waited. Nothing came. Nothing, until Marco asked: ‘Does it help if I get you coffee?’

And there it was again. The way he made it fucking impossible to be irritated with the situation, no matter how much I wanted to be just that. ‘Is there any?’

Marco nodded, pouring coffee from the pot into a cup. ‘We just made some.’

I drank my coffee quickly. Sighed when I had finished it completely. Marco stared at me while I did so. I looked back at him, the beautiful freckled boy. Th only reason I started working then was that I had to do something that distracted me from him. ‘Alright. Do you know where the flower is?’  

 

We got some work done that day. I kept us busy to keep us from having a conversation. I realised that having a drink with him at night was already too much. It was too dangerous. So I wouldn’t anymore. I worked with him, told him what to do, and every break I went to take a breather.

 

We did that for a few days. I skipped breakfast, went for a cigarette outside. Every break I took a small walk, or went to read in my room. Everything to stop grandpa, or anyone at that, from noticing how pretty I thought Marco was. Everything for keeping _Marco_ from realising how god damn pretty I thought he was. How much I thought that his choice of music, clothes, words, was like a fine wine as well.

I was ripped between wanting to get to know every single bit of him and wanting him to disappear from planet earth. Or at least disappear from my house.

 

He was good at the work. He enjoyed it and laughed a lot. He hummed with the French music he couldn’t understand. Grandpa loved him. I could see why.

 

That was the exact reason for keeping my distance.

 

It was going pretty well; the whole avoiding him thing. Tough one day, Marco’d been working for four days, there was a cup of coffee standing on top of the table. It was still nice and warm, as if he knew I’d come out as soon as he left. Underneath the coffee cup there was a small note. ‘ _Good morning, I hope you slept well!.’_ It said. He had drawn (terribly) a croissant with a smiley face next to it. I stared at the note. My insides started to tingle. I softly banged my head against the door, let it stay there, mumbled ‘ _Merde.’_

 

When I came down grandpa and Marco were already working. In silence.

‘ _You don’t even need me here anymore_ ,’ I told grandpa.

‘ _You’re late,’_ he replied.

‘ _Does it matter?’_

_‘You’re usually never late.’_

I ignored him. Marco perked up, no idea what we were talking about. ‘Good morning, Jean.’

‘Hi.’ I wanted to thank him for the coffee. I really did. I couldn’t do it.

 _'We’re making coffee bread,_ ’ my grandpa mumbled. I nodded. ‘ _You go stand in the store_.’

‘ _What, why?’_

_‘We’re fine here. Marco gets it already.’_

 

And so I started working in the store on that hellish day. I greeted the customers, got them their bread, didn’t even hear the jazz that was playing. I was afraid and it was taking over everything. I hated Marco’s presence in that moment. He was the perfect grandson for my grandpa, but that wasn’t the worst part. Jealousy definitely wasn’t the worst part; it was the fact that I loved every bit of him as well.

So I worked. I worked like I couldn’t think and couldn’t fucking love.

Until my grandpa came up from behind me, put his hand on my back softly. ‘ _Jean._.’

‘ _What?’_ No. No I didn’t mean to sound so mean. So god damn rude. This was anger for myself, not for him.

‘ _Did you fight with Marco, don’t you like him?’ Gr_ andpa looked worried. He had a frown between his eyebrows. Deep wrinkles appeared. Not liking Marco did not even begin to describe the way I felt/

‘ _You should go back to hi-’_

_‘Do you hate him?’_

_‘No- grandpa, he’s alright.’_ He was more than alright. He was good at his work, he was beautiful and he was the sweetest guy I had ever met. He was all of that in a god damn week. I barely knew him. He scared me.

‘ _Then what’s wrong?’_

 _‘Don’t you- I don’t fucking know- think this was stupid? Didn’t you think about what mum and dad would think?’_ I swung my arms into the air, put them into my hair.

_‘Jean, calm down.’_

_‘No! You know that they fucking- they hate me. They don’t fucking want me. So you just do something to- to-’_  I fell into silence.  

‘ _They do not-’_

_‘Don’t kid me, I know what they said.’_

_‘Jean, they are wrong, not you. Please talk to me.’_

_‘You want me to talk? This problem that I have..or that we as a family have.. getting Marco into the house isn’t going to help. Working here isn’t going to fucking heal that. Nothing will god damn change that fact!’_

_‘I kno-’_  I threw my apron on the chair and started walking towards the door. ‘ _Where are you going?’_

_‘A breath. Close up without me.’_

_‘Jean we need to ta-’_ And with that I closed the door behind me. My grandpa looked hopeless, walked towards the door to stare at me leaving. Marco didn’t dare to show his face.

I would have done the same.

They’d be fine. The two of them, without me. It would be quiet except from the everlasting French jazz, sure, but they’d be fine.

 

Now let’s get this part over with quickly. Like I was addicted to not feeling safe, with not being at home with someone, I went to see Jacque, an old friend with benefits. Forget his name. Angry and red eyed I banged on his door. He wasn’t there, so I sat down in front of his house and started smoking, smoking and smoking until he got home. When he did get home I had already lost. I saw him grin. I saw him grin because I had told him ‘ _don’t ever fucking come near me again,’_ and now I was sitting on his doorstep crying. I saw him grin and I knew he was not letting me go as easily. I could see that he liked to see me cry. The asshole who had started it all. He was not worth it; that was the worst part.

Still I followed him inside. I answered his rough kiss. I let him turn me around. I let him bit me all over. I let him mark me. I let him create more things to regret. There was no love. I moaned and my own voice sounded like I was underwater. I was drowning. I got fucked and hated myself while it happened. When he held my neck I felt numb. When he bit my ear I felt numb. I guess that was better than hurting.

When he came I couldn’t even cry. That’s what I had expected. To cry even more, more hysterical, while cursing him. But I just turned around, listened to him mumble that I was sexy, and felt asleep with the smell of his cigarettes hanging in the room. I had done the same thing so many times when I didn’t dare or want to go to my parents house.

Though this time, it was so completely unnecessary.

This time I had a home.

And there was someone who was definitely more worth it than this guy.

One cheek on my kiss, italian style, was worth more than a fuck from this guy.

 

That evening I had a nightmare that my parents walked in, and watched me lay in this guy’s bed, naked, and obviously fucked over.

 

I opened the door softly, at four in the morning. Grandpa always arrives early. Five, sometimes half past five. I had to, if I didn’t want him to find out.

Quietly, I walked up to the first floor. I heard soft Miles Davis coming from the kitchen. Marco was still awake. Or already, maybe.

‘Jean?’ His low, sweet voice said.

I sighed, walked into to the kitchen. He was sitting at the kitchen table. The light was completely dimmed. There was a cup of black coffee in his hand. He looked tired. He had stayed up for me.

‘Marco.. I thought- you didn’t like coffee at night.’

He smiled, but it wasn’t very convincing. ‘That was before I met you.’

‘You haven’t known me for that long.’

He didn’t answer that. He let a silence fall over the room, then he took the coffee pot and poured another cup. That one was mine, I realised. In silence he was inviting me to sit down with him, drink coffee.

I couldn’t tell him no anymore. Not when I was feeling like I couldn’t get any worse. So I took the cup from his hands, touched him softly while doing so, sending shivers over my entire skin. I wanted him to hold me.

Holding doesn’t solve everything though. Talking does the trick a lot better. Even if it’s scary as hell.

Luckily, he spoke up first. I already knew Marco was better at it than I was. ‘Jean.. do you.. hate your grandpa?’

I hadn’t expected that. My head snapped up, I frowned. ‘No. Of course not. I love my grandpa.’

‘Oh.. because you sounded so angry this afternoon.’

‘No..’ I looked at the cup in my hands as if it held the secrets in the world.

‘Then, is it me?’

‘No- yeah, no- You did nothing wrong.’

‘So why the yes?’

I frowned, swallowed. I wanted to disappear and never have this conversation. ‘Marco.’ He nodded. ‘I’ll tell you everything, alright? So please listen.’

‘Of course.’ He leaned in, put his hand on the table. As if he wanted me to know that I could hold it if I wanted to. ‘Anything.’

‘Well, I don’t exactly live here because I wanted to. This place used to be a storage, you know, empty for the biggest part.’ I chuckled at the thought of how it used to look here. There was no humor in it though. ‘Until this summer, when I moved in it was. I was- I was kicked out of my parents house. My parents hated me, they were so damn disappointed in me that they kicked me out.’

After a short silence Marco asked: ‘What happened?’

I swallowed. ‘They were supposed to be having dinner at their friends place, stay there for a while. They came back earlier than I had expected, and they caught me in bed with another guy. I’m- I’m gay, Marco. That’s why they kicked me out.’

Marco shook his head, grabbed my hand of the table himself. ‘You didn’t do anything wrong.’  I didn’t answer him, didn’t drink my coffee. I did nothing. In the darkness of the night I sat silently. So Marco asked on. ‘The guy you were caught with.. Is he the guy you were with tonight?’

I felt my face heat up. I didn’t want Marco to know this part of me. Still I nodded. He deserved the truth.

‘Is he your boyfriend?’

I looked up at Marco. He looked worried. He was so damn patient with me. ‘No. The guy’s an asshole. I really hate the fact that he- that he was it, you know? That he was the one I had to share this with.’  

‘Then don’t. Why did you go back to him?’

‘It’s easy. I don’t fucking know. I’m just.. shit, Marco, I’m fucking terrified.’

‘Of course you are. Who the wouldn’t be?’ And maybe he was right. Maybe that was true. Maybe I was just like everybody else. ‘But-’ I perked up at him. ‘Why do you take it out on your grandpa, Jean, you know he cares so much. I can see it.’

‘He does, doesn’t he?’ I bit my lip. Fuck, don’t- I couldn’t help but let tears fall. Marco got up, came closer, and put his arms around me. That’s when I could finally let go. I cried into Marco’s shoulder. I cursed into his shirt, but Marco knew I was cursing the world, not him. He softly caressed my back. Hushed me sweetly. ‘He fought with my parents and took me in.’

Marco hummed, happy with what I had said. I wiped my tears on Marco’s sweater.

When I had finally stopped crying he pulled back, grinned. ‘Let’s do something for your grandpa, hm? Don’t be cautious of me, Jean. I won’t make what you’re afraid of even bigger.’

I looked at my hands, blushed, then said one of the bravest things I ever have. I said, very, very softly: ‘I would have rather had that it was you.’  Then, before Marco could say anything in return, I walked towards the door. ‘How about we clean the shop, hm? To make it up to my grandpa.’

Marco held me back by my arm.

What?’ I asked him. I thought he’d be excited about the idea. Maybe he wanted to know more about what I had said, maybe he had unanswered questions. Marco really was someone to dig as deep as he could.

‘Do you have.. a turtle neck.. or something?

‘Why? I don’t have one here.’

Marco reached out and softly put his fingers against my neck. Fireworks erupted inside of me. He made me dizzy. ‘I think you should wear one.’ But when I realised what that meant, despair quickly took over. The fireworks burned out and I wanted to disappear with them. I begged the entire world: _please don’t say it, please don’t say it-_ ‘Your.. hickeys.. hm- eh- you can borrow my turtleneck, alright?’  

I couldn’t do anything but nod. I felt dirty and ashamed while I followed Marco.  I didn’t want to wear Marco’s clothes with someone else’s mark on my neck. I wanted to wear Marco’s clothes the way it was supposed to go; when I had slept in his bed, because I was cold. Not like this.

Marco handed me a black turtleneck sweater. ‘It’ll look nice on you.’

I glared at the sweater he was holding. ‘You’ve done enough.’

‘Pull it on.’ I took the sweater from his hands. It smelled like him. ‘And-’  He slowly reached out and put his hand underneath my chin. I finally looked at him. His eyes weer deep brown, beautiful, but serious. ‘Do something for me too?’

‘What?’

‘Don’t go meet that guy. If you’d rather have him be- be someone else, don’t do anything for him anymore.’ I felt him hesitate to say: _do it for me._ He was allowed to.

I took Marco’s hand away from my chin, looked away again. ‘I can do that.. I can do that for you.’ Just so I could do something that was not staring into his damn eyes I pulled on his sweater. The smell of his sweater made me feel more lightheaded than someone’s kiss ever had. He did things so me. I had it bad.

But there was no time to feel lightheaded. We went down to the shop, it was five in the morning, we put on a _best of soul_ playlist,  and started cleaning. We put every spice, every bit of flower, every single pot in place. Marco danced to the music. I just felt like I was alive again, even if it was just a little.

Marco put on some coffee for my grandpa, handed me a mug as well. One of the tea bags he had bought a few days ago soaking inside of it. He mumbled: ‘You need it.’

I took the mug from his hands. The warmth indeed calmed me, or maybe it was Marco’s sweet smile when I took the cup from him. Whatever it was, it felt new. While drinking that tea, standing still with Marco in the middle of the bakery, I realised how beautiful this place was. I had known. I had grown up here, but it seemed like I had forgotten for a second. This was my safe space. If someone would tried to invade it grandpa would kick them out, even if they were my parents. He’d never invite someone in who meant harm. He invited in Marco. Marco, the beautiful boy who traveled europe for an internship. A beautiful boy who fell in love with this bakery and returned.  
I realised how much I loved the old oven, and every single tile. I realised that I loved the fact that we made all coffee and tea without machines here. I loved them like I had before, before they were snowed in by panic and anger.

‘Marco- I- thank you.’ I whispered.

‘Jean, do you-’ The door opened then. Marco fell into silence. Grandpa walked in slowly. Stood still in the door opening. Looked at us, at the shop, back at us. Marco was the one spoke up first: ‘Would you like some coffee?’, he said. Then he handed grandpa the cup he had prepared.

‘ _Did you clean?’_ My grandpa asked in French. I nodded. ‘ _Merci!’ he laughed, ‘Merci,_ thank you,’ he tried in English, so Marco would understand.

‘ _He understands merci, Gramps.’_

He ignored me. Walked around the shop with a cup of coffee in his hand. ‘Dream team,’ he said, once again in English.

Marco’s face lit up, he grinned. He liked that, being a dream team with me. I didn’t know why; I made a terrible teammate. The fact that he got so excited about it though, excited me more than anything could.

‘ _So how about we start baking!’_ grandpa clapped his hands, smiled happily. ‘ _Jean.’_ He nodded towards Marco.

‘Oh.. right. Marco, we’re going to start baking.’

Marco smiled at me sweetly. That smile was telling me: _look at you, finally translating properly._ And that was fine. I hadn’t expected it to be, but it was.

‘We get three bowls each. We’re going to do something neither one of you had baked before-’  and so I translated. Marco and I worked harder than we even had done before. We learned new things, made grandpa feel like he could take a break, finally worked hard enough for everything he had given me; a home so feel safe in.

 

After a that long buy beautiful day, Marco took my hand and dragged me out of the store. Grandpa waved at us and I waved back, confused.  ‘Marco?’

‘Food.’ he just said.

‘You want to go to a restaurant? I’m kind of tired.’

He kept on holding my hand. We walked through the small street. I could feel how tired my feet were while walking on the small stones in our street. ‘Have you ever had italian food?’

‘Of course.’

‘Made by an Italian chef?’

‘I doubt it?’ I mumbled, confused. ‘Don’t mean to offend your culture, but I’m not exactly someone to go to fancy restaurants. If- if you want that though, we can go. We have money.’ I’d do anything for him right now. Fuck money. He made me proud of who I was.

Marco blushed. ‘I just wanted to go grocery shopping, actually.’

‘Oh- because you asked about the Italian stuff.. I thought.’

He chuckled. ‘You know what I study, right?’  

‘Yeah, some cooking thing.’

‘And I’m from?’

‘Ital- Oh- oh.’  He was laughing at me. ‘You’re going to cook?’  He nodded, pushed up his shoulders. ‘For me?’

‘Something very fancy, preferably.’ He kept on walking. I couldn’t help but follow him silently, because I wanted nothing more than to keep on holding his hand.

‘If that’s the case, I’ve got a place we need to stop by.’ I dragged him into a side street, one he had never to to before. He looked around excitedly. ‘If you want fancy, we’re going to do fancy.’ And with that, I turned for the best liquor store.  Marco was smiling brightly. The bell of the shop was an old fashioned one, like the style of the shop. I took my favourite bottle of wine and bought it. Fifteen euro. Not something you spend everyday on a drink, but today was worth it. It was fifteen euro to start over. Fifteen euro to fall in love with the new Italian boy.

 

Marco had to improvise a little. He couldn’t find everything he wanted, but didn’t exactly care either. He was not the kind of cook to be intimidated by different ingredients, he told me. We got a tablecloth my grandpa had left here and put it on top of the table. Marco got some candles from his dark room and brought them upstairs. I brought my record player to the kitchen and put on some James Brown. Marco grinned when I did so, started moving with the music while cutting his vegetables. ‘ _I got the feeling, baby-’_ he sang.

He was lovely like that.

He moved skilled. He let the risotto cook, cut mozzarella and made a salad with different types of tomato, he danced, oiled and spiced, he smiled. But we didn’t talk. Not yet.

He put the salad on the table, the caponata soon after, prinkled cheese on top of the risotto and mixed it together. ‘I hope you’ll enjoy it.’

‘I’m probably not the pickiest eater you’ll meet.’

He picked up his glass of wine from the kitchen counter and sat in front of me. ‘You’re the one I want to impress, though. For work- yes, for work I might meet people who are harder on me, but I draw a very clear line between cooking for people I care about and cooking for work.’

‘That’s amazing.’

‘I want to spoil people I care about, without feeling like I’m doing overwork.’ He reached out to the spoon and put risotto on my plate. ‘This wine is amazing by the way.’

I took a bite of the risotto. He watched me take one. It was god damn amazing. He sure as hell wasn’t one to talk. This was better than anything I could have bought him. ‘This is fucking amazing, holyshit.’

He grinned proudly. ‘One of my specialities.’

‘Cook for me for the rest of my life, holyshit.’ He chuckled, didn’t answer that. I was glad he didn’t. ‘Why are you making bread, patisseries, when this is your speciality?’

He stared at me. That made me realise I had almost never asked him a question about his personal life. ‘I- well.. I told you that it’s a long story, right?’

‘That’s right, you did, and I didn’t want to listen back then.’

He chuckled and shook his head. ‘Yeah.’

‘Well I do now, so tell me about it.’

He took a sip of his wine, seemed to be thinking. I slowly ate a piece of mozzarella while looking at him like he was the most interesting thing in the entire world. He was, in that moment. ‘About two years ago I was here on a vacation. I loved it here. Loved the village, the atmosphere. That vacation though, it was one that we had taken my grandpa on to- you know- eh- make a good last memory.’

I nodded. I didn’t know what to say. I understood that kind of love for a family member, I didn’t understand what losing them would be like.

‘On one of our first days we got all of our bread here. When my grandpa ate them he just, he was so damn happy. I hadn’t seen him enjoy food since he became ill. So of course we bought bread from this shop every single day, and every day he’d smile brightly. When my grandpa passed away.. I don’t know.. the place I missed most was this one. The place I wanted to thank for existing was this bakery.’

‘That’s beautiful.’

‘Seeing you care for your grandpa is just the cherry on top.’

I smiled shyly. ‘You have thanked us, you know. You make us happy by being here.’

Marco took a bite from his risotto. Frowned a little. ‘You’ve ignored me the majority of the time.’

I stopped eating. ‘You know why right?’

‘I- I get it. It’s no problem.’

‘Are you embarrassed?’

‘What?’

I took my wine, twisted the glass, focussed on it to hide my blush. ‘Saying that? Saying that I’m gay?’

‘Why would I be? Jean you’ve been.. You’ve been told that you’re wrong and that you shouldn’t love people, but I won’t. If you being gay would make me awkward, I wouldn’t have danced with you while drinking wine. Not today, and not that first day.’ He was holding out his hand to me, softly laid it down on the table. ‘Take it.’ he mumbled.

So I did. I took his hand off the table and held it tightly.

‘Jean..’

‘Hmm?’

‘Let’s make this a place to feel at home in, alright?’

‘Alright.. yeah.’  

We ate. Moved with the music, drank our wine and ate. Marco’s cooking was the one damn thing I had been missing in my life. It was delicious. The pure joy of good food and good company made me tipsy. Maybe it was the wine; I don’t think so though.

I ate until I absolutely couldn’t anymore. Said: ‘I’m dying.’ multiple times. Marco laughed at that. I yelled ‘It’s not funny, I can’t even move anymore.’ but he stayed unimpressed. He stood up, put on a Bee Gees record, and got my hands. I couldn’t help but stand up for him. He swayed his hips, grinned happily.

‘I can’t dance, I ate too much.’

‘C’mon..’ he complained, getting a little closer to me. ‘Dance Jean, I know you like to.’

I didn’t move an inch. Marco turned around, danced around me, swung, wiggled his chest against me. Moved his head from side to side, touched me softly from time to time.

I laughed. ‘You’re ridiculous.’

‘Oh I know.’ He handed me my glass of wine, danced on.

I sipped my wine, moved my shoulders up and down.

‘Look at him go!’

 

How we had ended up like this? Simple; the sparkling fucking joy of dancing around in a kitchen with wine in our hands. We were drunk on a happy moment. We put on Otis Redding’s _Cigarettes and Coffee._ Marco moved closer to me, put his arms around my neck, and moved from side to side. I let my head rest in the nape of his neck, smiled. I moved with him. The closer we got to each other, the smaller our moves got. Marco was warm and he had freckles in his neck. I thought he was perfect.

‘I love you freckles.’ I mumbled softly.

Marco chuckled. ‘There’s a lot of them to love.’

‘Hm.. yeah.’

‘They love you back,’ Marco chuckled.

‘That’s, that’s a lot of love then.’

He put one of his hands in my hair, caressed it softly. ‘You’re amazing.’

‘Why?’

‘This. Just you.’

‘You’re the only one who thinks that.’

He moved his head so that his nose was touching my ear. Moved even closer, held me better. ‘You don’t.. need assholes like the guy who marked you like that. You know that right?’

I stayed quiet. I didn’t know what to say. Held onto him and danced on. He did the same, for a bit. We barely danced anymore. We just stood in the middle of our kitchen, holding each other. ‘It’s hard,’ that’s what I eventually went with.

‘I know,’ Marco said. ‘Let’s look out for each other from now on.’

‘You’ll leave.’

Marco pulled back. ‘I will make sure not to miss a second of you.’ That was a drunk man talking, and that was fine. ‘I’ll be with you every second.’

‘You sound like a straight boy texting.’

He chuckled. ‘I’m not.. so let me?’

I let go of him. Pulled away a little bit. I wanted to look into his eyes, to see if he was serious. The look in his eyes made my insides turn. He looked at me like he knew me, and his eyes were infinite in that second. ‘Alright.’ That second the secord stopped playing. What had been music turned into something that sounded like soft rain. Marco kept staring at me. ‘Let’s go to bed Marco..’

He didn’t want to, I could see it in his eyes.

He didn’t say anything about it. He pulled me in again, held me a bit longer.

‘Marco?’

‘Hm?’

I took his shirt in between my fingers. ‘Do you- do you want to kiss me?’

He finally pulled away, and he did so quickly. He bit his lip. Stared at me. His silence made my heart beat in my throat. I thought it had been safe to ask but- He nodded. He nodded, smiled, and took my cheek into his hand. Slowly, his hand slipped to my neck, to where my hickeys were, and then he kissed me. He did so softly but deep. He slowly opened my mouth, stroked my neck. He moved closer and closer, pushed me against the kitchen counter softly.

When he pulled back I gave him small pecks. He kissed the side of my mouth, my cheek, my ear, then my mouth again. Deepened it again. When I closed my eyes I saw colours I had never seen before. His hand was warm. He tasted like wine.

‘Hmm..Marco?’

‘Yeah?’

‘Let’s go to bed.’

Marco nodded. We turned off the record player, blew out the candles and closed the window. Those few second felt lonely; as if we had gotten used to holding each other in such a small amount of time.  

That’s why. I couldn’t stand thinking about Marco walking down the cold stairs, into the bakery, down more cold stairs, into his souterrain where he had to face shoes from his window. That’s why, when Marco walked out of that kitchen, I pulled him into my room.

I tried to explain myself. It was hard. ‘It’s too far, too cold.. I.. stay a little closer?’

But he understood. He nodded and walked into my room with me. He had never been there before. He looked at my posters, while I got him the biggest shirt I owned. He pulled off his jeans and his shirt, took my sleepshirt. I put on a Rolling Stones shirt. Marco liked that, for some reason. He grabbed my shirt, pulled me closer, whispered ‘you’re beautiful’, and kissed me.

And I felt the part.

I felt more beautiful than I had ever done before.

I felt beautiful, and loved and fucking worth of being cared for. Maybe I was just drunk, I don’t know, because nothing in the entire world had ever made me feel like that.

Except from Marco.

‘Thank you.. You are too.’

‘Hmm..’ He pulled me into bed with him. He faced me. ‘We have to get up early tomorrow.’

‘I feel like I can do anything right now.’

He chuckled, pulled me in closer. ‘I know you can,’ I cuddled him ever closer ‘but I’m afraid you’ll have to do everything with a hangover.’

‘Whatever.’

He kissed my forehead. ‘That’s the spirit.’

‘Good night, Marco.’

‘Sweet dreams.’

Like I could possibly not have had sweet dreams, holding such a beautiful man. I felt calm and confident. I don’t know what I dreamed of that night; but I’m sure it was nice. Maybe I didn’t dream. Maybe I just felt. I felt arms around me, and a slow breath on my skin.

That was probably better that anything my brain could have made up.

 

We woke up because the sun was shining into the room brightly. That was something that hadn’t happened to me in a long time. I moaned softly and frowned. I felt two arms around my back. Slowly, I opened my eyes. The first thing I did was look down. A freckled hand was resting on my chest. Marco’s. Somehow it calmed me to think about him, to see this freckled hand. Somewhere inside me there was someone afraid of waking up next to the wrong person, like I had done so many times before, and their worries were proved wrong.

The second thing I did was looking at where the hell all this light was coming from. Obviously, it was the window. The sun was standing high. It was bright and shined into my eyes. The sun is not something a baker is supposed to see when waking up.

The sun meant we were late.

Very very fucking late.

I turned around and faced Marco. ‘Marco, wake up.’

He did so slowly. He opened his eyes and grinned as soon as he did. He reached up and touched my cheek. ‘Hey.’ He whispered.

My belly fluttered. We were late anyway. I’d let myself have my moment. ‘Did you sleep well?’

‘Amazing. You’re so-’ He glanced outside. ‘Why is the sun out?’

‘We’re super fucking late.’ I chuckled nervously.

He sighed, pushed his face into the pillow. ‘There goes all our hard work from yesterday.’

I nodded and slowly sat up. ‘Let’s go quickly.’

And so we did. Marco pulled on his yesterday’s pants and my sleep shirt; he had to pass the bakery to get dressed, so he couldn’t. Marco fixed my hair where it was looking weird. Marco brushed his teeth with his finger in the kitchen. I laughed at how stupid he looked while doing so. He softly kicked me, grinning with toothpaste in his mouth.

We walked down quickly, almost running like you would when you worked far away and had had a hard time with the train. We couldn’t use an excuse like that. We both came from upstairs; where Marco obviously didn’t sleep, and the lovely night was probably written all over us.

Grandpa was holding a plate of small breads when we walked in. Marco stood behind me shyly. He felt like he had to prove himself more than I did. He could actually get kicked out.

But grandpa looked amused with the situation. He said: _‘Look who decided to join me today.’_ I didn’t dare to translate to Marco. ‘ _My favourite duo.’_

‘ _Grandpa, we’re so-’_

 _‘Late. No time to chat, let’s start.’_  

I chuckled, turned to Marco. ‘Let’s get to work.’

Marco smiled and walked into the bakery.

‘ _Wait!’ grandpa said, ‘Maybe Marco should put some of his own clothes on first, hm?’_

I blushed. Marco stared at me, waiting to translate. He noticed something was up, ofcourse. ‘Eh- grandpa says you should put on your own clothes.’

Now it was Marco’s time to blush. He nodded at grandpa quickly, completely red, and then walked to his room. Grandpa laughed, fucking laughed at us. He was completely amused and into embarassing us even more.

‘ _The icing needs to be made.’ he said. ‘And also-’_ he looked mischievous. _‘If I had been angry I could have walked upstairs and knocked the door. It’s not like I don’t know where you live.’_

_‘Thank y-’_

_‘Icing!’_

 

Marco slept in his own room for a few days. That’s how long we held out. Those days were good too, the days after that were even better. Marco and I - yes, it was Marco and I now - we felt like we could carry the entire world. We were a team, the two of us, and our main goal was to make grandpa grin and roll his eyes at us. That look came paired with him thinking: ‘those two boys..’ It didn’t matter what that meant, it was what we were going for.

We ate breakfast together. I’d tell Marco what I had dreamt of, and Marco would say that he didn’t remember a thing about his entire night. We’d eat bread that was left over the day before, and sometimes Marco would make some scrambled eggs. He made sure to have coffee ready when I came in. I don’t know why he did, but I moaned every time I took the first sip. I fell in love with him every single day, a little more every single day.

But the romantic contact didn’t get further than that one drunk kiss we had shared. That kiss was stuck in my mind, and I couldn’t help but replay it every time I looked up and saw him. I thought of the way he had gotten into bed with me and held me the entire night. The way he had whispered that I shouldn’t go see other guys anymore.

I didn’t want to hurry, but more than that I was god damn afraid. Afraid that it had been nothing but him acting like a drunk. I knew there was love; there was love in the way he worked together with me, there was love in that first cup of coffee we shared, there was love in the way he talked to me. That meant just as much as the kiss.

But fuck.. I really wanted one again.

We worked hard. We practised, imitated my grandpa, made every single recipe one of our own. We got up on time and didn’t take breaks longer than we should. We chatted slowly while working. Marco told me about Italy. The contact with his family had become rough when his grandpa died, so he told me about the period before that. He talked about a house near a river, where they’d go to swim every summer. They’d take baskets full of food and he’d only come to eat when his mother called him. The rest of the time he’d spend running in and out of the water, searching for stones, pretending he was the spotter of never-seen-before animals.

‘Do you miss your home?’ I dared to ask.

He frowned, stared at the dough. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Oh-’ I didn’t dare to ask anymore.

‘The situation at home has been.. Different. I can’t say that everything felt like a home anymore. I don’t even know what caused it.’

‘I get that.’

He took my hand, full of dough and flower, and caressed it softly. ‘I know you do.’ He let go of it again, like I wished he wouldn’t, and started working again. He hummed with the music softly.

It was a few days later that grandpa walked into the bakery, took off his apron, and washed his hands. ‘ _I’m proud of you boys.’_ he said, watching over us.

I stared at him. He nodded to Marco, raised his eyebrows. ‘He-he says he’s proud.’ I translated. Marco now stood still, watched my grandpa as well.

When I had said that grandpa smiled. ‘ _I’m taking a day off. My first one in years.’_ That was right. I had never seen my grandpa take a day off. Not since I had known him. He must have had a day off for his wedding, for my parents wedding, and maybe even for the day I was born but I had never seen him leave the shop in somebody else’s hands.

He had never felt like he could, I realised.

It didn’t feel right to see him walk off, ten in the morning. Still he got his bag, waved at us, and closed the door behind him. I just stared.

‘Where’s he going?’ I heard Marco ask behind me.

It took a short while for me to answer: ‘He’s taking a day off.’

‘Oh.. He should. That’s.. That’s good.’

‘Yeah. That’s true.’

I talked to customers while Marco got everything we needed and paid attention to the oven. We put on a new radio station with music we both liked. We liked the french jazz, really did, but now Marco could sing. He did so very softly, while working in the bakery, but he did. It was the best thing I could possibly listen to.

We drank more coffee than we usually would. We ran the shop like we would do it. Which was almost the same. The same but with English music and more coffee.

One day, maybe, Marco would be able to sing along to French music. The thought of him staying long enough to do so made me dizzy, but also afraid.  

Customers asked where grandpa was and I just told them: _‘A day off.’_

 _‘Leaving the store into the hands of his grandson, hm?’_ The elder people said. They had seen my grandpa grow old, they had eaten his bread for almost all of their life, from the day my grandpa had opened the shop. ‘ _Can I get three baguettes, honey?’_

I called Marco, told him to get the fresh ones. Marco walked in grinning. He looked gorgeous like that, freckles spread differently by the broad smile. ‘Here you go.’ He mumbled while handing me the bread.

‘ _Who’s that?’_ They asked.

‘ _Marco. He doesn’t speak French.’_

_‘What a beautiful boy.’ She said happily, before putting money on the counter._

I grinned _. ‘I agree. That’s three euro please.’_

When most of the customers were gone I walked into the bakery. ‘I’m tired, you should stand in the shop.’

Marco grinned, walked up to me. ‘If you teach me French I will.’

‘Alright, I will.’ I chuckled, kept an eye on the shop. No one. ‘U _n pain, s’il vous plait_.’

He laughed. ‘I know that. You’re asking for a bread.’

I laughed ‘It always comes in handy.’

He laughed, came a bit closer. I don’t know if he noticed but it made me nervous. He was so damn casual about it. ‘Teach me something sweet,’ he said.

I thought about it, swallowed. Something sweet, hm?   _‘Tais-toi et embrasse-moi._ ’

He smiled softly. I bet he noticed as well, that I was nervous. He was calming me with just a look. ‘What does that mean?’

‘Shut up.’

He laughed. ‘That’s rude, not sweet. Is that it?’

‘No.. not just that.’

‘Then wha-’

‘Shut up and kiss me.’

He stared at me. I could almost see his mouth fall open. Almost. He was too quick with his recovery. He came closer and smiled, so damn satisfied.

‘ _Oui.’_

 _‘_ Sounds wei-’ and then he kissed me. First he brushed his nose against mine, and then he slowly pushed his lips against mine. His fingers caressed my neck and my earlobe softly.

He kissed me like he had done so a thousand times before.

That’s what Marco felt like; like I had known him a lifetime. Like we were an old married couple running a bakery. Like he’d be there to greet me when coming home for the rest of my life.

He pulled back and put his forehead on mine. ‘ _Mon amour.’_

‘You’re saying it wrong. It’s _mon a-_ ’ The bell of the shop rang. Marco pulled back quickly, but carefully. He was blushing bright red, I bet I was too. ‘ _Je viens_!’

‘ _Je viens.’_ Marco repeated thoughtful while I hurried into the shop. I mumbled a quick ‘shut up’, but I don’t think he heard it.

 

That night Marco and I went out. We went to a random bar and ordered some bear. There was a rock band playing loudly, which was nice. Marco kept close to me. He touched me from time to time. He touched my hand, he touched my ear while getting close to me to talk, he made sure our arms were touching. He made my heart leap.

I couldn’t think anything but _Marco, Marco, Marco, Marco._ He made me want to go home, sit in our kitchen and give each other sloppy kisses. He liked it here, felt like he was finally seeing something of the city.

We danced. That was nice. With our beers in one hand and each other in the other we danced. Marco stood swayed against me, his face in the nape of my neck, kissed me softly from time to time.

The music wasn’t the easiest music to dance on but who the hell cares. In this crowded bar where everything smelled like beer we’d dance however. However we’d be able to be close to each other. Marco threw his drinks back like it was nobody's business and touched my hair a lot.

Everything was fine. For a while, at least. Somewhere that evening, a hand touched my shoulder, pulled me away from Marco a little. I turned around to see an old friend of mine. I grinned and hugged him. ‘ _Been a long time!’_ I called. ‘ _This is Marco.’_

He smiled and gave Marco a hand, introduced himself. ‘Nice to meet you.’ Marco said in English, to the guy’s confusion.

‘ _Your new boyfriend?’_ He asked in French again.

I blushed. ‘ _Something like it.’_ is what I eventually decided to go with. Marco couldn’t understand us enough to tell me otherwise anyway. I don’t know if that made it better or worse.

 _‘Jacque!’_ He called. My blood sank into my shoes. From behind him came my friends with benefits, drunk hollow eyes. ‘ _Jean’s here. With his new boyfriend.’_

_‘I said something like-’_

_‘Jean!’_ He came close, hugged me. When pulling back he tried to kiss me, pull my face in. I pushed my hand between him and me. Marco stared at my mouth, then at Jacque, no fucking idea what was happening. ‘ _The fuck is your problem?’ Jacque snapped._

_‘My fucking problem? What about you-’_

Jacque turned to Marco. I would have rolled my eyes if there had been anything funny about it. There wasn’t. Marco didn’t hear what was going on. He had only seen this guy trying to kiss me. ‘ _So this is the guy who made you think you’re the shit, hm?’_

 _‘Yes.’_ I only answered.

‘ _He going to say something or what? Hey asshole. What about a greeting?’_

Of course, Marco didn’t. He looked at me so I could translate. I didn’t.

‘ _Cat got your fucking tongue, hm?’_ Jacque grabbed Marco by his collar. Marco didn’t even flinch. He had seen it coming.

Fuck, I’d kill to have nerves like Marco’s.

‘Excuse me, I don’t speak French.’

Jacque kept holding on. He barely spoke English either. ‘ _Go fucking home then.’_

_‘Childish, Jacque.’_

He let go of Marco.‘ _Shut the fuck up, you slut.’_

I swallowed. Bit my lip. Marco turned to me. He saw the words hit me. He saw it in my damn eyes without understanding a single word. He didn’t have to. He understood me.

He asked: ‘What did he say?’  

‘Nothing.’

‘Jean.. plea-’

I didn’t have to translate. With a terrible accent Jacque repeated himself. ‘Your slut, hm?!’’ He spat it in Marco’s face.

And I don’t fucking know what happened. Marco just didn’t hesitate. Not a single goddamn second. He reached out, grabbed Jacque by his collar and punched right on his nose. Just ones. Then he pulled back, grabbed my hand, mumbled ‘excuse us,’ and walked away.

My friend was laughing loudly at Jacque, had a story to tell now.

Jacque cursed at him, but somehow didn’t follow us.

The air was cold.

Marco’s hand was warm.

My heart was beating in my throat loudly. _Please don’t leave, please don’t leave,_ was all I could think. It had been good. _Dancing had been good, drinking had been good, I’m sorry I’ve done shitty things._

‘Marco, I’m sorry.’

Marco turned around, caressed my cheek. ‘No, I am.. I lost my temper. I- I haven’t done that before.’

‘What he said-’

‘I’m so sorry. He was trash talking you in French right? I could only imagine what he said, and I couldn’t talk back- it made me so mad at myself.’

‘No. What.. no don’t feel bad about that.’

Marco leaned in, put his head on my shoulder. ‘You’re so beautiful.’ he mumbled. I tried to believe him, but it was a harder this time. I really tried my best. ‘Was that guy.. The guy?’

‘I- eh-’ _Be honest, Jean, if you love him he should know everything._  ‘Yeah- he was.’

‘That’s what I thought. If I hadn’t.. seen those hickeys and your tears before.. I probably wouldn’t have punched him just now.’

I chuckled.

‘What?’

I pulled away a little, looked at his face.‘You’re jealous.’

He frowned. ‘So what?’

Now it was my time to let my head fall against him, to smile. ‘You’re so fucking sweet.’

‘I don’t see how-’

‘Marco. Tais-toi et embrasse-moi’

He shut up. Stayed quiet for a second, thought.  ‘Did that mea-’ I slid my nose against his, ‘oh it doe-’ and I kissed him. He was smiling into the kiss, opened his lips right away.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                   I wanted to cry, still I felt like flying. Marco did that to me. He made things good again.

 

That was the end to us sleeping in separate rooms.

 

We walked home in silence, hand in hand. Crickets were loud, the spring air hit us and made us shiver. We had a place to call ‘our’ home, and as soon as we arrived there Marco slammed the door closed and kissed me against it.

I pushed my hands into his hair, pulled him closer by his neck and opened my mouth. His cold hands caressed my hip.

I realised that he wasn’t going to hold back if I wouldn’t tell him to. He wanted me.

‘Marco.. upstairs.’

He moaned a complaint, but let me grab him by his hand and drag him up the stairs. We wanted to get to my room as fast as possible. We wanted to kiss on every single step. We were a mess, and we needed nothing but each other.

Nothing but sloppy kisses halfway the stairs.

Nothing but him touching the skin on my back while trying to walk, walking slower so that his hand slid over my ass. Chuckling while doing so. Generally being giddy as fuck.

But we got to the room, eventually. I closed the door behind me and suddenly it felt as if it was out first time being together. I was so damn aware of him being here. I stood still in the middle of my own room.

He pulled me in and hugged me, kissed my ear. ‘You want to lay down?’  

I nodded, pulled him with me towards the soft matras. He kissed me, kept staring at me. Caressed the skin under my shirt.

‘Jean..’                                                                                                                        

I stroked his hair. ‘What is it, mon amour?

‘If you don’t want this yet.. I’ll wait.. We can-’

And there it was; exactly what I had expected from him. He was never careless. He wanted to be goddamn sure I wanted him as much as he wanted me. He wanted to be so goddamn sure that I was not broken by assholes.

He just wanted to be sure.

He could be. I wanted no one but him. I grinned and pulled him in. Whispered in his ear: ‘Hell no. I’m not waiting anymore.’ He cracked a smile, leaned into my words, let me kiss his ear. ‘C’mon sweet boy. Show me how this thing feels when I honestly love someone.’

He softly caressed my cheek. ‘I’ll show you how it feels when when someone honestly loves _you_.’ he slowly pulled out my shirt. Then he kissed my neck, kissed my collarbones, kissed my nipple, kissed my lips. He kissed me everywhere while clumsily undoing his own pants. I undid my pants and pushed them down. He stared at how I did it, his forehead pushed against my chest. He quickly returned to the small kisses, all the way down to my tights.

He licked them softly, barely. I breath in quickly, moaned out.

‘You okay?’

‘Hm.. yeah, that was just- was a first.’ And that’s weird, that there are places that have never in my whole life been touched. That my entire body was never touched like this.

‘Good.’ He moved up, licked my dick slowly. First the tip, then the entire length. He took his sweet time, as if he was trying to taste it. I couldn’t help but stare at him. Moaning softly. When he took my length into his mouth though, I closed my eyes. I whimpered. He bobbed his head up and down, gripped my hip roughly. I put my hand in his hair and moved with him. ‘Hmm-Marco.’

He licked the tip a few times. Sweetly, then rougher. ‘You’re amazing,’ he mumbled, his lips red from my cock. I didn’t have the strength to fight him on it anymore.

He pulled back, pushed my legs up easily. Leaned in for a kiss and pushed me double while doing so. I smiled at him. He was sweet, so fucking sweet.

With my legs leaning on his shoulders he fingered me carefully. That first touch erupted inside of me. I was about to explode. He was everything, everything I felt, everything I thought about, everything I cared about. In that second he could have done anything to me. I trusted him blindly.

But he was careful. He made sure to finger me until I was ready, despite my moans telling him to hurry the fuck up, and when he was finished he kissed me first. ‘Marco..’ I whispered when he pulled back. He nodded slowly. ‘I’m yours.’ My voice cracked. Fuck.

‘You’re my dream..’ he whispered. He snuggled his nose against me. With that he pushed his lips on mine and kissed me deep. With his lips still against me he pushed his dick inside of me slowly. I moaned against his mouth. Marco chuckled hushed. ‘Dream team.’ he mumbled softly.

‘Not sexy, Marco.’

He chuckled. ‘Sorry, I’ll be sexy.’

‘How a- Ah fuck!’ He pushed himself inside of me. Slid his right hand over my chest and held my legs up with the other one. He looked at me like I was everything. He moaned, bit his lip, but didn’t look away from me for even a single second.

‘Marco! Fu-’ I grabbed a pillow and bit on it. Marco moved the pillow away from my face again, smiled softly, then pushed his hand into my mouth. I closed my eyes and sucked his fingers. The only thing I could see was light. My belly fluttered, my chest exploded. Marco thrusted inside of me again and again, deeper every time he did. He was sweating, his hair sticking to his forehead, and he looked like he was into another world.

I bet I looked the same. I could barely focus my eyes, squirmed.

Marco was whispering sweet words, and sometimes my name. _Beautiful,_ he said. S _weetheart,_ he said. _Amore mio,_ he whispered, _mi hai cambiato la vita._

 

Having time to wake up slowly the next day was heaven to us. Used to waking up early we managed to sleep until eight. That was late to us. The sun was shining already. Marco was holding me tightly. When he noticed I was awake he pressed a kiss to my neck, but didn’t make any effort to do more than that. I kept my eyes closed, focused on that warmth. His fingertips moved from my chest to the space underneath my armpit, to my hips, to the space above my dick. He caressed every spot softly, almost as if it was the most natural thing in the world to him. I had never been touched there. I felt like hiding and squirming but I did everything to enjoy the touch. The more I focussed on it the more I could; his fingers felt amazing.

‘Marco..’ I whispered.

‘Hm?’

‘You’re weird.

He chuckled, pulled me in a little more and held me tightly. His breath hit my ear, the rhythm was meditation to me.

I sighed, tried to wiggle even closer to him. ‘Marco.. Can I ask you something?’

‘Hm?’  

‘Do you want to stay here for longer? Longer than your internship?’ I turned around. Marco was frowning, staring right into my eyes. ‘I mean- I get it if you can’t-’

‘I do.’ He pushed his forehead on mine. ‘I want to stay here. I could.. after I graduate I can really stay here.. and honestly- Jean- you feel like my home.’

I bit my lip, wanted to cry. I fucking wanted him to stay forever. But I didn’t believe him. He had his family in Italy, he had told me about them. He had an education to finish. He had to go home. Still, him saying that he wanted to stay felt good.

‘You’re cheesy.’

‘I know.’

‘I want you here.’ My voice cracked.

‘I know, _amore_.’

I bit back my tears. Didn’t want to _make him_ stay. I wanted him to think about it by himself. ‘Let- let me make you breakfast.’ I pushed the comforter off me and got up. ‘You’ve done so much for me. Let me make your coffee.’

I had forgotten that I was buttnaked. That was fine. The cold air felt nice and Marco’s eyes could stay stuck on me for forever; I wouldn’t mind. I grabbed one pair of sweatpants off the floor and pulled them on. Marco searched for his own blue striped underwear while smiling like an idiot.

He followed me into the kitchen and put on a slow record. I got out our favourite coffee and cooked some water. Then I used to same pan to cook two eggs.

Marco sat down on the table and watched me while I cooked. He kept on smiling at me. I kept on blushing.

‘You sure are energetic today,’ he mumbled.

‘Fuck off.’

‘Are you- I don’t know-  in love or something?’

I looked up at him and grinned. ‘Maybe.’

He got off the table with a small hop, moved closer to hug me from behind. ‘What do you mean maybe? Idiot.’

‘I might be.. in love that is.’

‘Hmm..’

‘Let go off me.’

Marco cuddled me closer. ‘Rude.’

‘I need to go get some flower downstairs, cuddlemonster.’’

‘What, why?’

I got out of his grip and kissed his cheek softly. ‘You deserve the best fresh croissants there are. From the best bakery in the world.’

For the first time since coming here, I made croissants for myself. Marco started helping me anyway; that was fine. We did everything just the same as we would if we’d be at work. It felt so much different. Maybe it was the way Marco touched my nose with his flowered hand, laughed at me loudly, and then kissed my nose to get rid of the flower again. The way he kissed my lips because he wanted more after getting a taste of that kissing thing again.

Nevermind. It definitely was that part.

 

 _Dream team,_ that’s what he had called it and that’s what we became. Grandpa started relaxing. He started drinking coffee in front of the shop, going grocery shopping in the middle of the day, started calling old friends for minutes long. Laughter became more common in the shop.

The shop had always had love. But this love was different. It was soft and calm.

It was Marco that had made it that way.

Marco and I didn’t get touchy when grandpa was there; but he seemed to know anyway. The softest touch or the most simple look would make grandpa look at us like he knew. He never said anything about it.

He put us back to work with a sly smile on his lips.

The first two days in which we slept together Marco would go down first, so that it didn’t seem suspicious. But later on we went down together sleepily. We’d hold hands until the last step of the stairs.

Marco moved his stuff upstairs. All his stuff fit into one suitcase, so you could barely notice it in my damn mess, but it was nice knowing this was _our_ place now. We joked around about how he had officially moved in a lot. He jokingly called me ‘hubby’, danced around in an apron while saying ‘honey come home’ in the kitchen. We ended up having sex on the kitchen table because of it. I don’t know, that’s just the way were were now.

It was exactly that that I had dreamed my relationship would be.

That's what I had left my parents home for; so that I could meet the man of my dreams and have sex with him on my own kitchen table. Laughing and moaning and laughing some more.

Marco was my best friend.

He was my favourite person in the entire world, and time was ticking.

He’d leave and it was ripping me apart more every day. From time to time Marco and I would sit down at the kitchen table and we’d look at how his school year would be next year.

The first few times I almost started crying and walked away from him. I was ashamed and I didn’t want to deal with it yet. He sat there, then, on his own, looking up flights and free days.

Still Marco surprised me when one day I walked into the kitchen and he said: ‘July 24 until the last day of august. My school starts on the first of september.’  I wanted to open my mouth to say something, to kiss him, but I felt numb. ‘If you say yes I’m booking right now.’

‘Yes. Wait- we have to ask.. my grandpa.’

‘Good. Because I have another question for him.’

I sat down, flabbergasted about Marco once again, falling in love with him even more than I ever had. He pushed a cup of tea my way, telling me that yes, this really was something I’d have to sit down for.

‘Jean.. baby..’  I nodded. ‘I called my mum. I- eh- I called some more people. People in Lyon.’ Lyon? The city next to this one, why? ‘And my school too. T-there’s a fancy Italian place in Lyon that will have me. For my next internship. I’m allowed to do abroad one more time, because I did my first internships in Italy.’’

‘That’s amazing- fuck- what exactly does that mean for us?’

‘That means that I can live here with you from January until my graduation, and after my graduation I’m doing whatever the hell I want.’

That was the first time I actually had a reason to cry, and I did without running away. ‘Really?’ I cried. While Marco held me and whispered ‘Really, _amore_ , really really. I let Marco hold me and kiss me like that for a minute, and as soon as my tears stopped running even a little I dragged Marco downstairs. It was nine in the evening.

We walked out, knocked my grandpa’s door loudly.

Grandpa opened with small eyes and his reading glasses on. ‘My boys.’ he said. As if he had accepted Marco as his own grandchild. I wish he had. If he had the answer had to be ‘yes, yes, yes.’

‘ _I’ve got a question.’_ I mumbled quickly. Grandpa walked inside and kept the door open for us. We walked after him. He had a pot of coffee on, poured us two cups. ‘ _Actually, Marco has a question.’_

_‘Hm?’_

_‘And we also need to tell you something.’_

Grandpa nodded, slowly pushed a plate of cookies our way. Marco took one, ate it nervously while he understood only a few on my words. ‘ _You two can tell me anything._ ’ Right there and then I knew that he knew. He had known from the second Marco moved in. ‘Everything,’ he repeated in English.

He had been the only one who had seen how much I had changed when Marco first moved in. He was the only one who had seen all the looks, all the careful guessing.

_‘Marco- Marco maybe wants to return in July.’_

_‘He hasn’t even left.’  Grandpa joked. ‘No but july is good. July is free.’_

_‘_ July is good for us. He allows it.’ I mumbled in English.

Marco grinned. ‘ _Merci,’ he said shyly. ‘_ What about.. You know?’  

‘ _Grandpa.. That’s not the only thing.’  Grandpa nodded. ‘He can, maybe, live here in Januari until the summer too. To work in an Italian restaurant in Lyon.’_

Grandpa sighed. _‘Jean, what’s your part in this? He can do better that in Italy, you know that right?’_

That hit me hard. _‘I- I want him to do all he can.’ Marco saw that I was nervous. He reached out and touched my arm softly._

_‘I know, Jean. And if you know why this is best for him, that’s fine. So why is it?’_

_‘I- I never want him to leave again. He wants to stay here, with us. He’s happy here, grandpa, I know he is.’_

My grandpa grinned. ‘ _I know he is_ . _I’ll allow it, but- there won’t be space for a helper then so-’_

 _‘Oh! Actually,’_ I started too happily, piped down soon enough, _‘Marco doesn’t really.. sleep in the souterrain anymore.’_ I blushed bright red. Marco stared at me, I shook my head and waved at him.

Grandpa watched us carefully. ‘ _Oh- then there is no problem.’_

_‘Is there not?’_

Grandpa chuckled. ‘ _Of course not! When Marco starts living here in july I’m going on a vacation,’ he laughed. ‘ I’m leaving the store to my sons.’_

‘Marco.’ I whispers. ‘He calls you his son. Says he’d leave the store to us.’ Marco looked at me, his mouth hung open. ‘He allows it.’

‘ _You found a good partner, Jean. He’s a cook!  What more can I, a baker, possibly want? Go book Marco’s flight, Jean, let’s say we pay a half of the ticket with the shop’s money.’ ’_

_‘Grandpa.’_

Grandpa grinned and opened his arms. _‘Come on..’_ He mumbled. ‘Marco too.’ I walked closer to my grandpa, into his arms. Marco put his arm around me, and came closer to. My grandpa put his hand on Marco’s head. He mumbled: ‘ _Tout se passera bien, j’en suis certain.’_

 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed that! Comments make my day.


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